


But I don't want you to hide

by MrBalkanophile



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-20
Updated: 2010-03-20
Packaged: 2017-10-08 04:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrBalkanophile/pseuds/MrBalkanophile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"José's voice sounds calm and… <em>perfect</em>, it touches his ear and brain as gentle as it has never been, and Zlatan realizes the true meaning of those words just many seconds later."</p>
            </blockquote>





	But I don't want you to hide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [great_whatsit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/great_whatsit/gifts).



> 1) Somewhere around 2012.  
> 2) Oho, this is NOT a translation!

**But I don't want you to hide**

“I’ve heard you’re willing to come back.”  
Zlatan tries to figure José sitting comfortably in his favorite blue armchair, but almost one second later he’s quite sure José’s in his office at Appiano, because it’s around 5pm and his teammates have just finished their afternoon training (sheesh, Zlatan never managed to call them “his former teammates”, even if half of the team is composed by babies, kids and people he doesn’t know).  
“Damn, you always knew I wanted to come back. I never acted like it, I never speak about that, so how-“  
“You know I’m leaving.” José’s voice sounds calm and… _perfect_, it touches his ear and brain as gentle as it has never been, and Zlatan realizes the true meaning of those words just many seconds later. “So I’m asking you why are you so excited to take back the possession of your old cottage in Milan.”  
“I didn’t know that, José.”  
“Strange, I’m sure everyone knew my contract was ending this summer. Didn’t you manage to lay your hands on today’s papers? Or yesterday’s? A single fuckin’ piece of news in the last month?”  
Zlatan scratches the tip of his nose, lost in his own thoughts. “You taught me to trash papers in the bin without a second glance, once” he points out after some time, confused, gazing at his phone.  
“Correct,” José answers, outwardly pleased by such a good answer. “How many times did you rub your finger on the nose, before noticing that?” Zlatan lifts his hand from that and burst out laughing, trying to hide his embarrassment even if he’s sure José’s far hundred miles from his place.  
“I’m still waiting.”  
Zlatan groans. “Um, victory needs?”  
“You don’t even know what is ‘victory’, Zlatan.” He can easily imagine José’s smirk and rage leaves place to frustration and defeat: Barça hasn't given him the outcome and success he wants – he _deserves_ – and neither Arsenal or Manchester have. “So give me a justification of your umpteenth _escape_, or shut down this call.”  
Zlatan’s gasp is enough tell-tale, even if his only answer is a badly muttered “I can’t”. José holds his phone as tight as Zlatan is doing with his own right now.  
   
“It seems you always know where I am” Zlatan sighs, staring at José on his place’s doorstep without any sign of amazement.  
“You weren’t calling from UK. Can I-“  
“Yeah, sure” Zlatan interrupts him, standing aside from the door. Two heartbeats later, they’re holding each other’s hands.  
“You aren’t going to tell me why, are you?”  
“No,” Zlatan laughs quietly, rubbing his fingertips on José’s back. “But you know that, too.”  
José looks at him with a curious glance.  
“Can you stay here?” Zlatan asks, lowering his gaze for the first time ever. José grins, considering his question carefully.  
“We’ll see” he answers, with the same soft voice of a couple of hours before, and Zlatan smiles too.


End file.
